


I die a thousand deaths. (I am drowning in you.)

by xtreasure17



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Drabble, F/F, Heartbreak, Memory, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtreasure17/pseuds/xtreasure17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maman locks Mircalla in a coffin filled in blood, but it is sorrow that drowns her instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I die a thousand deaths. (I am drowning in you.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm a new writer here! I'm testing waters with this drabble. Kinda very excited and scared too cuz there are just so many great writers out there... it's short but I wanted to add insight to the part where Carmilla described her time in the coffin (as if it didn't already give us enough woe in the webseries hehe) and so here I am.  
> Okay, enough talking I guess. I would greatly appreciate it if you can drop me a comment or kudo. Enjoy.
> 
> I own nothing of this except my words.

The irony would have made her chuckle, if not for the blood that completely surrounds her. The essence of life (as Maman calls it) seeps into her every pore, as if to remind Mircalla of the lack of such a flow inside her own body, and threatens to take the dead out of the vampire. How ironic the situation was: a monster that survives on blood drowning in the very substance.

The coppery taste overwhelms Mircalla every time she gasped for the air that does not exist inside the wooden prison.

(Of course Maman would lock her up in a coffin. The epitome of cliché.)

Blood fills her nostrils and burns in a sudden seizing pain all the way to the nerve endings in the back of her brain every time she breathes. She doesn't need to but she does (it makes her feel alive) even though the blood destroys her lungs and then repairs them and then destroys them again with each breath she takes. The vicious cycle of immortality.

(Yet nothing can heal her broken heart.)

The pale skin against bright red; she always looked best in it. Now she is covered in her favorite color. (Is she still beautiful in her eyes?) Red fills her vision.

(Ell's smile will forever be etched in her mind.)

Blood roars in her ears in the absence of the beating of her young heart.

(Ell's voice. Ell's laughter. “You are a monster.” “Mircalla…” “Carmilla.”)

She cannot remember how it was to live; yet she is still not dead.

(She would rather die--willingly die this time-- than to continue living as the monster she has become.)

She is drowning yet surviving, the blood a constant reminder of the monster she has become. Each breath not a moment of calm but an agonizing flash of nostalgia of the lives she has led and the people she has and has not been. She chokes, not on the blood, but on the words she did not say, all the smiles she did not show, all the promises she could not keep, and all the love she did not give.

The blood becomes thinner with every tear she sheds; her emotions become her fears. Her essence of life is tainted with her sorrows and pains. It is undrinkable, insufferable, inescapable.

(Unless,)

She surrenders. Mircalla dies but Carmilla lives, dies to live, survives without living, and lives without death.


End file.
